


Undone

by smirkdoctor



Category: Little Women (2019)
Genre: F/M, historic paint pigments, quite french murmurings, undoing painting aprons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smirkdoctor/pseuds/smirkdoctor
Summary: After they’ve consummated, after the sun-dappled French mornings where Laurie murmured to her in multiple languages while she swirled her fingertips or dry brushes over his skin, Amy begged to know what he had said.
Relationships: Theodore Laurence/Amy March
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	Undone

After they’ve consummated, after the sun-dappled French mornings where Laurie murmured to her in multiple languages while she swirled her fingertips or dry brushes over his skin, she begged to know what he had said.

Amy’s determination grew steadily on their trip back to America. She couldn’t wrap her head around calling it “home” again, not just yet. _Home_ was the room they had shared in the Paris apartment after they’d married, the site of those sun-dappled mornings.

 _Home_ was Laurie. It might as well have always been.

She spent her days on the liner determinedly not thinking about the changes that had visited Orchard House. How lonely it must feel, bereft of Meg and Jo...and now Beth, the rooms quiet and dull without music, children, and home theatricals. Her chest and her very soul hurt when the memories pushed back in, and so she turned to Laurie for solace. 

After he comforted her privately with nuzzling lips to cheeks and coddling arms around shoulders or publically with a strong hand to her lower back, she would look up at him with a calculating grin. 

Her spunk returned, she could focus all of her considerable charm, her cherubic face (for she could pick out some words when he murmured in French), her imploring blue eyes. She leaned into the distraction of this challenge.

“What do you say when you monologue in French in the mornings?” she asked over a proper dinner in the ship’s ballroom.

Laurie turned his best _not in public, my love_ smile her way then dove into conversation with a businessman on his other side. But Amy glanced the carmine in his cheeks and decided that this knowledge was quite worth having.

“I understand phrases and words _ça et lá_ , but you speak too fluently for me to follow entirely,” she mused aloud as they touched hands during an evening dance. The other couples in their circle looked very intrigued and Laurie ducked into his collar as vermilion bloomed up his neck.

Later that night in their bed, his collar and shirt discarded, her stays loosened and removed (by none other than her husband, who had taken strongly to the task of learning to undo her many layers), his lips tracing over the tendons in her neck, she asked again.

Laurie attempted to roll away and hide his colorful face in the cool pillows, but Amy tightened her thighs around his thin hips and successfully held him in place. She placed gentle palms on each side of his face and captured his eyes.

“My dearest, what was it you said? I promise not to tease.”

His face showed his doubt, and she added “...overly much” and squeezed again against his ticklish flanks.

He sputtered out a giggle and nuzzled into her neck, bringing his lips to rest near her ear.

“If I tell you, will these attacks cease?” he pleaded, squirming just a bit against her naked body as she ran her fingers lightly up his side.

She drew in a deep breath to slake the thirst he aroused in her and breathed out against his unruly hair, “Of course, my love.” Her thighs opened again and he relaxed into the cradle of her hips.

He began to speak before lifting his head. “I was recounting the story of how I came to love you.”

A warm fire lit in Amy’s chest and she sighed happily, petting his shoulders with gentle strokes, bidding him continue.

“The tale begins with my love for you as a pushy, precocious sister, setting aside extra pastries for when you’d inevitably barge into my study, leafing through art texts and leaving them strategically open to hear your thoughts on painting and sculpture.”

Amy huffed quietly and Laurie slid his arms beneath her to cradle her head in his hands as he lifted his own to meet her gaze.

“But then the tale moves ahead, to a lost and sad man who has fled to Europe to mend a broken heart, and the newly grown woman who finds him and pummels him first with kindness and then with reminders of his responsibilities.”

He glanced down at her lips and nipped the bottom one to make her release it from her own teeth, immediately soothing it with a soft, lingering kiss.

“And in the denouement,” he whispered, their faces separated just enough to allow him to gaze into her eyes, “the lovers-to-be spar mentally over creation and greatness and the beautiful, talented, intelligent woman answers the indolent man’s flirting with a seemingly innocent request to _remove her apron_.”

Laurie ended the phrase with a slow thrust, and she could feel his hardness. His passion for her. He voiced a low, quiet moan and her eyes went wide.

“I don’t think you had any idea what you were asking, but the act of undoing those ties, my fingers brushing against your body not in play but to _undress_ you, even just a bit,” he kissed her passionately and drew an answering moan out of Amy. “My dear, I was as undone as the ties.”

As their passion grew, they were inevitably pulled away from the conversation.

Some time later, Amy slumped forward over Laurie, tired and sated by her exertions, muttering that she should have taken advantage of the riding lessons Aunt March had offered but she had denounced as “unladylike.”

Laurie chucked, low and deep, as he gathered the covers around their cooling bodies. He would never say such a crass thing to his wife, but he enjoyed dwelling on the sensation of himself softening and their connection loosening.

Amy suddenly sat up again, startling an _oof_ sound out of Laurie. “ _That_ would explain why you dismiss the lady’s maid each evening.”

He looked up, mischievous beneath his thick lashes, and nodded. Amy narrowed her eyes and nodded slowly back, biting her lip and making a mental note before shifting to her husband’s side and settling into repose.

The next morning, Amy penned a letter to Sallie Moffat inquiring as to any new, ornately-skilled tailors in the Cambridge area. She had unfortunately left behind her painting supplies, including her apron, in France and would very much like to replace it with the finest she might obtain, an apron with good strong buttons and an ornate tie closure.

She sealed it with wax stamped with the Laurence seal and returned to bed, because she could hear Laurie snuffling quietly, a sure sign he was ready to be gently awakened.


End file.
